Come On Up To The House
by TomiSama04
Summary: Sam died three days ago, and Lucifer was lost. (Samifer, Destiel)


Samifer Week 2013 #3: Tuesday, October 15, 2013

**Come On Up To The House**

Pairings: Samifer (SamxLucifer), Destiel (DeanxCastiel)  
Ratings: Teen  
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts. Technically, the Winchesters are dead, but it has a happy ending.  
Words: 1774  
My Tumblr: talesfromperdition

For Lizifer (lesbiansatan on tumblr)

* * *

"_The world is not my home; I'm just passing through.  
__Come on up to the house."  
_- Tom Waits_  
_

Sam died three days ago, and Lucifer was lost.

The first day, Lucifer sat in their bedroom with the shell that used to be his vessel – soul already departed for greener pastures – and stared at it, as if the force of his gaze could reverse what had been taken from him. He had been there as Sam gave his last, struggling breaths; the asshole wouldn't let Lucifer take away his pain or cure him, and over the past thirty years, Sam had conditioned the archangel to honor his wishes.

Finally, _finally_, after months of struggling, Sam's weak human body gave in to the cancer, and for a moment, Lucifer was relieved. He wasn't struggling, he wasn't fighting, and he looked like he was sleeping, peaceful at least.

But then, Sam's soul lifted from his body, and Lucifer was alone.

Lucifer wished he had done just _one more selfish thing_. It would have been nothing for him to take the cancer away, and they could have had another thirty or forty years together. He could have given Sam immortality, and too late, Lucifer realized he should have just done it without Sam's consent.

But he couldn't… he wouldn't…

And now Sam was gone.

He felt Sam's hand grow cold, stiff, but Lucifer didn't leave him. He didn't take him to the cemetery where the body he so loved could rest next to Dean in the ground for ever. Castiel, Lucifer remembered, had buried Dean almost instantly before he left to join him in heaven.

It wasn't an option for Lucifer – it was probably why Sam refused cures and immortality – because heaven was the only place Lucifer _couldn't_ go. It was Sam's only way to escape him.

And so Lucifer spent his first day without Sam with fingers steepled under his chin, sitting in a chair across the room from the man he loved so completely, trying to make his chest rise again with the shire force of his will.

* * *

The second day, Sam's absence felt as strong as a physical hole in Lucifer's chest, a wound so severe he would never heal from it. It was an ache that had no comparison – not when the angels fell, not when Dean died, not when Castiel left to be with him – even though those losses hurt, too. Nothing compared to this. Lucifer would never recover.

He stood up from his seat and approached the vessel that had contained Sam's soul. It was as silent and still as it had been the day before, and when he slipped his arm under Sam's head, his flesh was cold. His other arm went to Sam's knees, and he lifted the body effortlessly, holding it to his chest as he flew to the place Dean was buried.

There was a hill in a forest, owned by the Men of Letters, and Dean had picked the spot out before he died. It was a spot under a tree, marked by a handmade cross with DW carved hastily in the wood. The Impala served as a headstone.

Dean hadn't wanted to fix her after their last supernatural-related incident that left her broken two years prior to Dean's death. Even he knew when the fight was over, and he had asked Castiel to help him move her to their spot.

Two years later, Dean had joined her. Five years after that, the family was reunited.

Lucifer sat Sam's body down and took a shovel to the earth. Castiel had rushed to bury Dean – desperate to join him in the afterlife – but Lucifer had time. He only had time. So he spent six hours digging the grave by hand. He spent another hour carving Sam's name into a second make-shift cross – a little lopsided, but it was the best Lucifer could do without cheating – and he stuck it in the ground next to the mound of dirt that covered Sam's body.

The archangel sat down at the foot of the graves, drawing his knees up and resting his arms over them. He leaned forward in the shade of the tree, looking at the complete set – the Winchester brothers' final resting place – and he'd never felt more alone.

* * *

By the third day, Lucifer was lost – flying from hunter to hunter – telling them what had happened in very few, harsh words. Every time he said, _"Sam's gone,"_ it felt like a betrayal, that he had let the man down, and Lucifer would hate the pity in the eyes of Sam's friends, but he needed it.

He fed on their pity, their sympathy, their loss. It was the only validation he had that he had meant something to Sam – when the hunter's friends wrapped their arms around Lucifer and offered their condolences – he knew that they knew how much the archangel had loved his former vessel.

He didn't stay in one place for long, and he didn't cry. He hadn't yet; he wasn't sure if he could.

It wasn't until he had left the last of them – one of Krissy Chamber's children – that Lucifer realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He knew, from watching humanity, that lovers often felt lost when their partner died. They weren't sure how to go on, weren't sure if life was worth living anymore…

But Lucifer had forever. It wasn't a handful of worthless human years left without Sam, Lucifer would see the end of the Earth and the beginning of what happened next. He wouldn't die, couldn't die, not without an angel blade burning him out of his vessel, and there weren't any angels left who would deliver the final blow.

Except one.

Lucifer inhaled a sharp breath, the thought of it never occurring to him before.

He wondered where angels went when they died.

If Sam knew – if somehow the human could look down on Earth and see him – he would be angry. Sam Winchester had longed for a natural death, and while Lucifer had fought that cancer wasn't natural, not really, Sam had rolled his eyes.

This wouldn't be a natural death, but Lucifer couldn't have one anyway.

Sam would want him to keep doing good, to keep helping the humans for all eternity, but he couldn't do that. He wasn't strong enough to look at the species and not see Sam – his good nature, his kind heart – in the best of them. It would be too painful, it already was too painful, and he wasn't selfish enough to save Sam. But he could be selfish enough to end his suffering.

What's the worst that could happen? He would fight in purgatory for the rest of his life or he would go back to hell? Where did angels go? Where did angels who were kicked out of their home go when they die?

Lucifer didn't care. He flew to the Winchesters' grave.

When his feet touched down, his angel blade had already manifested in his hand. He wanted to do something for Nick's body – it had been a good vessel for him, once he found out how to make it contain him – and it deserved to rest as a hero.

The coyotes would get it out here.

Lucifer tightened his grip on the blade, trying to figure out logistics, when he heard a flutter of wings behind him. There were only two angels with their wings left – other than Lucifer – and the archangel knew which one it would be. He shut his eyes. "Go away, Castiel."

"Sam sent me," Castiel stated. He must have caught side of the blade because he could feel the other angel narrow his eyes at the back of his skull. "What are you doing?"

"How is he? What's heaven like for the dead humans? Will he enjoy it?"

"He's fine. He's healthy, but he was worried about you when you didn't show up. I can see that was justifiable now."

Lucifer turned around. Castiel was in jeans and a hoodie – he hadn't worn the trench coat in a long time – even after he got his Grace back from Metatron after all the angels fell, he wouldn't go back to the coat. He was different now, he had said.

They all were different now.

"So where have you been?" Castiel asked. "Why didn't you follow him?"

"I can't," Lucifer said, frowning. "I've been…"

"Forgiven," Castiel finished for him, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

"Forgiven?" Lucifer asked, like he wasn't sure what the word meant, but Castiel just nodded. "I can go back?"

Castiel nodded again, and Lucifer dropped the angel blade – it landed with a soft thud on the grass by the graves – and he flew off toward home.

* * *

Sam's soul was as familiar to Lucifer as his own Grace was. Once he breached the gates of heaven – with no one trying to stop him this time – he could follow the soul to reach Sam.

He stopped flying at the edge of Sam's heaven, looking around their yard. He looked up at the house they had shared for years, one that Lucifer had built by Sam's design, and took a step toward it.

Sam was sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, reading a newspaper. When Lucifer took another step toward him, Sam looked up, a grin bursting on to his face.

He was young again – almost nobody stayed old in heaven; they picked their favorite memories as their grounding point in the afterlife – and this wasn't long after the house was built. Sam stood and walked to the opening of the porch, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What took you so long?" He called across the yard, but he was smiling.

Lucifer took another tentative step forward. "I'm sorry."

"Well," Sam nodded his head toward the door. "Come on in. I'll make you some coffee and you can try to explain the slack-assing. Then, I'll let you make it up to me."

"Really?" Lucifer asked.

"Sure. And if you want, after we've christened the house again, we can go see everyone. Dean's missed you, and everyone else would like to see you."

"Everyone else?" Lucifer asked again. "Bobby, Ellen, and Jo? They want to see me?"

Sam grinned. "My mom and dad, too. No pressure."

"None at all."

"So are you coming up, or what?" Sam called, but didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he turned and walked into the house.

Lucifer took a deep breath, and then followed him in.


End file.
